I peer around the corner and catch a glimpse of what once was.
My feet freeze fast in the memory.
I feel the gravel of grief beneath my feet. My heart hurts. Strength in my arms drips from my fingertips and puddles on the floor. I sigh sorrowful.
I am caught off guard by my memory, yet it is not surprising.
I have a friend who hurts, now. Our stories are similar, yet different.
I hurt for her, too. My soul draws close to hers and meets her where she is.
I want to help her. I pray for her. I listen. I am present.
I try to separate out my sorrow from hers, but it is hard.
I ask Him to help me.
A cloud of witnesses appears in my mind.
I remember those who went before me, walked same and different roads, making the choice to put one foot in front of the other, committing to one hard choice after another, persevering when they felt like falling, always loving.
I realize gratitude for those who showed me the way and loved me when I was lost and love looked limp.
Now, I embrace my story and my sorrow, knowing that it is part of His purpose.
I allow God to take that memory and move me.
All for His glory, I step alongside of my friend, encouraging her to stay strong and seek Him.